


The Love of Three

by Terrantalen



Category: The Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 15:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16519034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terrantalen/pseuds/Terrantalen
Summary: Just my personal take on the threesome from Mists of Avalon, as told from Arthur's perspective, with a focus given to the male pairing.





	The Love of Three

Arthur took his wife while Lancelet lay beside her, his hand fondling her breast. He glanced briefly up at Arthur in between the kisses he placed on Gwenhwyfar's throat as though asking for permission before he seized her lips at last. Arthur felt an indecent pleasure at the sight of his kinsman kissing her even as he himself had yet to finish, the thought that they might share her so somehow increasing his pleasure in the act. Gwenhwyfar touched both of them, her small, pale hands caressing Lancelet’s chest, then reaching for Arthur and pulling him closer to her an instant before he spilled his seed within her. He rolled off of her, allowing Lancelet to fill his place and watched, taking the place opposite to the one Lancelet had occupied, as Lancelet kissed down her throat and breasts and allowed her time to recover. Gwenhwyfar arched beneath his attention, her moans of pleasure pleasing Arthur in turn.

How long had she wanted this, and Lancelet too, he wondered? Now, at last, they could stop hungering after one another like starving dogs and sate themselves. They could know that Arthur could never bear either of them ill-will for doing as their hearts desired. He loved both of them to such an extent that he could never have forbade either of them anything, nor could he see that he had a right to interfere with the will of whatever God or Goddess that had drawn them together so.

He laid on his back next to his queen, looking up at Lancelet as he looked down at Gwenhwyfar’s face. There was devotion there, and, yes, desire too. There was a dim flickering of light from a single candle that wavered along his cheek and jaw and glowed within his dark eyes. He was beautiful, Arthur thought, a very little like Morgaine might have been, had she been born a man. His manhood gave a hopeful pulse and Arthur licked his lips.

He turned and kissed along Gwenhwyfar’s neck, allowing his newly resurgent passion to guide him. Lancelet, he realized, was having her now, she panted in rhythm with the movement of his body, her hands were reaching for Lancelet’s hips, begging him deeper within her. Arthur kissed her mouth as she moaned and shivered and then he turned to see Lancelet’s mouth so near his own that it was almost accidental, the first brush of their lips together. Then it was Lancelet who moaned as Arthur parted his lips and kissed him as he’d only ever kissed women before. Arthur felt his manhood fully reawaken as Lancelet leaned forward and pushed him back to lie down, his head once more next to Gwenhwyfar’s.

She was still panting and Arthur realized that Lancelet had not yet finished himself. Arthur reached upward, winding his arm through his wife’s to touch Lancelet, the hair on his chest was soft under Arthur’s fingers and he trailed his fingers across the flat muscle, brushing Lancelet’s nipple. Lancelet broke their kiss and leaned away, his eyes now frantic, ecstatic as he looked between the pair of them. Did it not seem, Arthur wondered, that Lancelet was looking at him far more than Gwenhwyfar? And then, with a cry, Lancelet thrust a final time into Gwenhwyfar before he stilled and slid off to the other side of her. His hands stroked her gently, and Arthur found himself petting her in the same, soothing way, though his body ached with renewed arousal. Her breathing returned to normal, and like one drugged, she fell off to sleep. 

Lancelet’s hands shook slightly as he continued running his hand up and down her pale, smooth skin, his worshipful caress sweet and tender. Their fingers met as they caressed her once, then twice. The third time, Arthur’s hand twined itself with Lancelet’s.

Morgaine would tell him that there were forces beyond the control of mortal men, and Arthur felt himself ensorcelled by just such a force as their eyes met. To end this, he knew, he must acknowledge what he’d known all along. There were not merely two people in this bed who had wanted this, but three, and Arthur wanted Lancelet to be his, as he belonged to Gwenhwyfar, for wasn’t that the truth of them? It worked not between two, they only worked when they were three.

Lancelet’s eyes roamed Arthur’s body and stared fixedly at Arthur’s rigid manhood. He tore his gaze away and looked into Arthur’s eyes with a look of such painful devotion that Arthur felt as though his heart were pierced. _Yes_ , he thought, _I want this, Galahad._

As though he’d spoken aloud, he heard Lancelet’s answer. _Then you shall have it, my Gwydion._

Lancelet climbed over Gwenhwyfar as she slept. He settled himself next to Arthur, trembling as though a virgin. Lancelet was only half aroused, and frightened too, besides, so Arthur gently laid a hand on Lancelet’s neck, like he’d do for a nervous horse, and then kissed him sweetly, tasting him again. Lancelet responded with a tremulous caution, as though he were afraid that one or the other of them might come to their senses, but as they kissed, their temerity grew, and Arthur knew that he had come to his senses at last. This was what he’d wanted when he’d suggested that Lancelet share the royal bed this evening.

He felt Lancelet’s manhood pressed against his thigh, the warm length slowly growing hard, solid and heavy where it rested. With a moan of passion, Arthur pulled Lancelet atop him and settled him between his thighs with little idea of what could or should come next, only knowing that he wanted his cousin close to him. Their manhoods rested together and Arthur felt a shock of pleasure rush through him as Lancelet thrust against him, pressing them both against and between their bellies. All the while, Lancelet’s mouth barely left his, except to occasionally gasp a breath. They kissed frantically now, desperate and hungry in a way Arthur had not been since his kingmaking.

“Galahad,” Arthur whispered between kisses, “Let me…” he did not know what he was asking permission for until Lancelet pulled slightly away from him and Arthur found himself reaching for his cousin’s cock. Lancelet was already slick as Arthur’s fingers closed around him. He worked his hand up and down Lancelet’s length and Lancelet bowed his head to him again, now bold as he was on the field of battle in taking Arthur’s mouth with his.

He kissed down Arthur’s throat, teasing the skin there with his teeth and sliding himself out of Arthur’s hand. Arthur went to reach again, but Lancelet held him away and Arthur felt newly powerless as he realized that Lancelet’s strength could overcome his. He did not fight, however, his cousin’s unspoken direction, he merely allowed Lancelet to lay his arm back down on the bed. Lancelet’s clever fingers found their way to Arthur’s nipple and he gently brushed it as though gauging Arthur’s reaction to the contact before he ran his thumb around the edge and stimulated it into hardness. Arthur heard himself moan in shock at the strange, foreign pleasure of the touch. Lancelet smiled faintly before he sucked Arthur's other nipple into his mouth. Never had a lady done such a thing to him and Arthur felt chills racing across his skin, the tingle of his release building at the base of his spine, as Lancelet sucked and teased him.

“Galahad,” he said, his cousin’s name torn from his throat like a still-beating heart. He groaned and Lancelet left off and Arthur panted with the frustration of his delayed release, everything in him tight like a drawn bow, merely waiting for Lancelet to release him. Arthur looked up pleadingly at Lancelet. He was poised above him, looking down at him like he was awed by what he saw. Arthur had looked at Morgaine that way once, before he knew who she was, in that dim morning light. As much as he had wanted this, Lancelet had wanted it more, he realized, and a strange, half-acknowledged satisfaction came over him that Lancelet desired him equally, if not perhaps more, than he had Gwenhwyfar.

He reached up and ran a hand through Lancelet’s dark hair, allowing his curls to coil around his fingers, “Finish it, Galahad,” he said, though the words were not a command, but a plea.

Lancelet ran his hand along Arthur’s body, down his belly to his throbbing manhood. He licked his lips for a moment before he took Arthur in his hand next to his own cock. He pumped them together, his hand struggling to hold them both. Arthur’s hips moved of their own will with little purpose or rhythm as he bucked up against Lancelet, into his hand, against his manhood, their seed mixing and slicking them as he felt himself become ever more helpless to stop.

Lancelet spilled himself across Arthur’s belly, the sight and the barely audible whisper of “Gwydion,” enough to send Arthur, too, over the edge. Lancelet collapsed atop him, too spent to move. They laid entwined that way for what felt like a long, peaceful lifetime, the beat of Lancelet’s heart slowing against Arthur’s own breast. Lancelet shifted himself from between Arthur’s thighs to lie next to him, before he reached down off the bed and grabbed some scrap of clothing off the floor and wiped himself clean, then he did the same for Arthur, his hands steady and careful. He seemed to hesitate momentarily, before Arthur pulled him down to lie against him, so Lancelet’s head rested upon his shoulder. Arthur stroked his kinsman’s back. He was exhausted and sated, and he might have slept for a moment, with Lancelet enfolding him, or perhaps the strange spell of the evening merely made time seem to pass strangely, Arthur could never be sure, and it did not matter.

What he next remembered was Lancelet placing a last kiss against his lips and Arthur felt him move to get up, but he caught him by the wrist, “Stay,” he whispered.

Only moonlight streamed through the window now, but it was enough for him to see Lancelet’s nod of acquiescence. He walked quietly to the other side of the bed and slid once more next to Gwenhwyfar, his hand coming to rest on her belly.

Arthur turned to face his wife and took Lancelet’s hand in his over her stomach, where, even now, the child that she wanted so desperately could be quickening. That was why, he reminded himself, this had happened, though such a thought seemed alien and strange to him now. He traced Lancelet’s knuckles with his thumb where their hands were clasped and shut his eyes and did not dream.


End file.
